Pureed food, it turns out, not so much. You like chunks and lumps and squidge-it-in-your-sticky-palms messiness.
All this talk about baby led weaning vs traditional, I wasn’t sure which way to go. But after a few tries, you decided to clamp your mouth shut when it came to finely blended mush. A banana, you go crazy for. Likewise with cucumber. And I never, ever, ever want to forget the sounds you made savouring your first butternut squash and broccoli. You, Sammy are a boy with fine taste.
In other news, you’ve mastered rolling onto your tummy. You’ve slept in your own room for a week (your mama has trouble with this one) and your hair started to curl. All this in the two weeks your Nain and Taid have been in India. I swear you have doubled in size too, my Pocky lump. My back protests when I get up to feed you in the night now. Nope, no sleeping through yet. In the autumnal 4am darkness I hear your baby dinosaur calls, asking me to cuddle you close for your milk. You squeak as loud and as quietly as you can; serious experiments in sound.
You’ve found the remote. You still smile a million times a day but your lip can curl in an instant when somebody gives you a fright. And, Sammy, you might (might) have got the hang of napping…